


Imagine Being Loved By Me.

by pearlydewdrop



Series: Her Socialist and His Suffragette [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Canon Compliant, Class Differences, Daydreaming, F/M, Fantasizing, Forbidden Love, Heartache, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Lust at First Sight, Mutual Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01, Secret Crush, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sneaking Around, Song: Imagine Being Loved By Me (Hozier), Star-crossed, Sweet/Hot, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlydewdrop/pseuds/pearlydewdrop
Summary: It was painful, maddening really, wanting someone so devastatingly out of reach as her father's chauffeur. Try as Sybil might to quell her feelings, the attraction and distance between her and Branson felt all the more agonising and aching for her efforts.(Lots of pining! A little steamy nonsense! Written for the sole purpose of getting me out of a writing slump!)
Relationships: Tom Branson/Sybil Crawley
Series: Her Socialist and His Suffragette [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1398220
Kudos: 13





	Imagine Being Loved By Me.

**Imagine Being Loved By Me.**

...

_I'd be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love_

_I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of_

_That's found in the last witness before the wave hits_

_Marvelling at God before he feels alone_

_One final time and marries the sea_

_Imagine being loved by me!_

_I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do_

_So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you_

_~Talk, Hozier_

...

The summer air was hot and heavy.

Two pairs of bright blue eyes met in the Renault's rear view mirror, both evidently having learned to tune out the acidity of Mary and Edith's bickering quite some time ago.

Branson offered Sybil a small, albeit adorably lopsided, smile. There was a twinkle in his eye that forced her to look away, knowing that she was being rude and knowing he would forgive her for it.

She rather liked Branson's smile, as inappropriate an admission as it was.

Devoid of all pragmatism and logic, a choiceless shiver ran down Sybil's spine. She forced herself to pay attention to the passing fields, ignoring how her heart pounded furiously in her chest and her cheeks burned hotly under the handsome Irishman's attentive gaze .

Sybil was curious, unquenchably so...

Her thoughts grew increasingly more dangerous as she succumbed to the insanity of the summer heat. Sybil imagined Branson's hands in her hair, cupping her face and easing her legs around his waist. She could almost see his shirt hastily unbuttoned and feel her skirt bunched up at her hips by tingling fingers. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, desperately trying to detached herself from the dizzying heady daydream of discovering who Branson was beneath the uniform that separated them.

Sybil could almost feel his skin against her own, just as feverish—every bit as hungry.

Branson lips descended upon hers, warm and insistent...or at least that's what she envisioned them to be. Her eager fingers clutched at his back, tracing the broad plains of his shoulders. Sybil felt the expanse of Branson's chest pressed against hers until every other thought in her mind was utterly consumed.

She shivered, goosebumps galore, and bit back a whimper.

Sybil's whole body felt on fire. Anticipation and temptation seemed to have found a home in her mind where Branson was concerned.

Warm, flustered and a little ashamed—she ducked away from the mere possibility of prying eyes and bid her desires to leave her in peace.

It was painful, maddening really, wanting someone so devastatingly out of reach as her father's chauffeur. Try as Sybil might to quell her feelings, the attraction and distance between her and Branson felt all the more agonising and aching for her efforts.

Risking a glance at him once more, she knew that his eyes would have already returned to the road.

Sybil couldn't help but watch as Branson bit his bottom lip, hands gripping onto the steering wheel as though to ground himself in the moment. Fleetingly, she wondered if his current musings in any way mirrored the illicit nature of her own. Such a thought was just enough to send jolt of electricity to her stomach, no matter how she tried and failed to convince herself that Branson's personal thoughts were no business of hers.

Nothing could ever happen between the two of them, friendly as the unlikely pair had become with one another. Sybil didn't even know his first name!

Purposefully, the young aristocrat tore her eyes away from Branson, peering out of the motor once more. She could feel the scorching rays of the afternoon sun boring judgmentally down upon her and longed to remove her hat and gloves, permitting her curls to tumble from the constraints of their pins. She blew one sweaty strand of hair out of her face and decidedly crossed her legs, hoping to dull the peculiar throbbing sensation between her thighs.

Needless to say Sybil could not blame the heat for her distraction.

...

The day was meltingly hot. Tom's heart raced, his head pounded, his ears rung and, rather determinedly, he kept his eyes firmly fixed upon the road.

Pointedly, the Irishman tried and failed to ignore how Lady Sybil's lovely blue eyes darkened upon meeting his own. As always, a hundred unspoken words passed between them in a single charged instant...just enough to drive Tom to the very edge of sanity.

He told himself and told himself that Lord Grantham's youngest daughter was much too far above him. It had become a mantra that Tom found himself repeating over and over to himself. He chanced a look at her in the rear view mirror, finding her endearingly flustered and pink cheeked.

Tom could hardly prompt himself to look away as Lady Sybil's chest heaved and she sighed frustratedly, crossing her legs and hiding her flushed face behind a gloved hand. She bit her lip, sending his thoughts to all sorts of sinful places.

Feck it to blazes, Lady Sybil was driving him mad!

Gripping tighter to the steering wheel, Tom tried to ignore how his livery suddenly felt stiflingly warm and more uncomfortable than usual. He pushed aside all thoughts of Lady Sybil, urging himself to forget the countless imagined scenarios that had tortured him perpetually each night before sleep pulled him under.

Tom saw her dishevelled, the strap of her chemise sliding off of her shoulder. He saw her eyes brimming with the same mixture of lust and love that he felt welling up inside of him whenever they were together. Tom's hands were in her hair, fingers caressing the length of her spine.

Lady Sybil's fingers grasped for the waistband of his trousers...a thought that sparked a dozen other graphic visceral images in Tom's mind. He could almost taste her porcelain skin beneath his lips, feel the heat of her body flush against his own. He imagined what she'd sound like, moans and gasps of pleasure swallowed up hastily by heated open mouthed kisses.

It was torturous madness...but the sweetest form of torture Tom had ever experienced.

Dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, he shifted in his seat to lessen the tightening in his trousers. His face now swelteringly warm with silent embarrassment, Tom tried to tear his thoughts from her, to rationalise away his attraction to the beautiful, kind and clever Lady Sybil with the aid of cool logic and common sense.

Although their conversations about politics were frequent and lively, their words were always steeped in a sense of refinement and propriety. Both were intelligent enough to know where the line between them had to be drawn. Both knew the exact location of their own social boundaries, the invisible barriers of class that defined every interaction they shared.

It was something drummed into them since childhood. Politeness was fine, desirable even, but anything more was completely out of the question. Lady Sybil would never feel for Tom as he did for her, even in his wildest dreams he had come to accept that.

Tom Branson sighed distractedly, wiping the sweat from his brow as he prepared himself for the moment when he would park the motor in Ripon and the Crawley sisters would disembark.

He could almost hear the refined and emotionless words that would inevitably pass between Lady Sybil and himself while her sisters left without so much as an acknowledging nod in his direction.

Their roles, the lady and the chauffeur, would be perfectly well acted so that no one could possibly come away any the wiser. He and Lady Sybil would smile and nod in polite farewell, their true feelings buried deep down inside—remaining impeccably hidden from the light of day.

_"Thank you, Branson."_

_"Not a bother, Milady."_

No one would ever dare suspect how he'd been imagining her.


End file.
